


quiet, comfort

by under_a_linden_tree



Series: under_a_linden_tree's prompt ficlets [7]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:48:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26238130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/under_a_linden_tree/pseuds/under_a_linden_tree
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley spend a quiet evening at the bookshop together.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: under_a_linden_tree's prompt ficlets [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1755112
Comments: 12
Kudos: 54





	quiet, comfort

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MovesLikeBucky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MovesLikeBucky/gifts), [elizabethelizabeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizabethelizabeth/gifts), [5ftjewishcactus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/5ftjewishcactus/gifts).



> The idea for this comes from my lovely friends in the Soft Omens Discord Server.

It’s quiet in the bookshop, without the rush of cars and passersby. Night has fallen over Soho and Crowley is enjoying it, the relative lack of background static that this busy neighbourhood is so prone to provide. Its absence allows for him to listen, to tune in to his close surroundings.

He can hear the worn pages of Aziraphale’s book when he flips through them, reading almost quietly except for an occasional pleased hum. There’s a low lull of music from the bookshop’s neighbour, and the shift of fabric underneath his ear whenever Aziraphale moves. The sound’s delightful, all rough and familiar by now.

Crowley’s face is snuggled up against Aziraphale’s stomach, and his arms are wrapped around his soft middle. He could doze off right here, right now, with Aziraphale’s warm body and steady breathing to keep him company. The sofa in the backroom has become so much more comfortable over the past year, maybe because it’s shared now.

“My dear?” Aziraphale asks, very softly. “Are you asleep already?”

“‘M not,” Crowley responds. “Just lazing.”

He opens his eyes, blinking against the reading lamp’s light. Aziraphale looks so soft, in his beige cardigan and with his round reading glasses perched on top of his nose. Perfectly at home here, amidst all the clutter of his own space, which is steadily mingling with Crowley’s own things. A teacup here, a pair of sunglasses there in case they go out. The magazine on plantcare that he forgot on the till last time he visited. His discarded jacket. Crowley loves the picture it paints, the two of them encircled by an atmosphere of their own making.

“Well, that’s good to know, then.”

Aziraphale places a gentle kiss on his forehead, and Crowley smiles faintly. This is exactly what he has grown to love over the past months, small and casual signs of affection. Never in a million years would he have asked Aziraphale to make up for anything they might have missed out on in six millennia, but he still does. Every single touch, every kiss heals a centuries old scar.

“Hey, angel,” Crowley says after another moment of gazing at Aziraphale, watching as his eyes track the lines on the page until he hears Crowley’s voice. “Lean down for a moment?”

“Of course, dearest.”

The smile Aziraphale gives him is radiant as anything. He nudges Crowley’s cheek with his nose, a gentle invitation, and Crowley kisses him, gentler even than that. He’ll never grow tired of kissing Aziraphale.

“I’m so terribly glad you came over,” Aziraphale says, shifting his book to his left hand so he can run it through Crowley’s hair.

It’s already been ruffled many times tonight and Crowley feels both strangely content and somewhat restless because of it. This easy kind of tranquility is still new to him, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with it, what letter to file it under. So he reaches for Aziraphale’s hand instead, rests it between their stomachs. Their fingers intertwine within moments.

“Me too,” Crowley says, and he means it, with all his heart.

He’s glad they can look at each other freely now, without the barrier of Crowley’s sunglasses, without pretenses and precautions. They don’t need them anymore. Affection is between them and it’s so perfectly visible. Aziraphale’s gaze is an endless sea of adoration, a storm of blue and green, carrying love wherever it goes. It lays Crowley to ruin, every single time. And suddenly, Crowley finds that he  _ wants _ . He wants to hear that voice, feel the vibrations of it like a torrent carrying him along.

“Read to me?” Crowley asks, his voice soft and low. It’s the gentlest way a request can be phrased.

Aziraphale smiles. He does that rather often, these days. “Of course, my love.”

So Aziraphale starts reading aloud. The story he’s reading is soft enough for a night like this and Crowley quickly finds himself drifting off again. The night is unusually quiet around him. He feels safe here, amidst the sound of the pages turning, the fading music from next door and Aziraphale’s gentle voice.

Eventually, he falls asleep to a line that goes like this: “ _ I think we dream so we don’t have to be apart for so long. If we’re in each other’s dreams, we can be together all the time. _ ”

And naturally, Crowley dreams of Aziraphale.

**Author's Note:**

> The quote is from Milne's Winnie the Pooh.


End file.
